The Ponygirl I Saw Bound Awoke My Darkest Desire

I went out for a walk with my godfather that Saturday afternoon, as we did almost every weekend since I moved to the city to finish my degree. Esteban had given me a room in his house, and with it came little luxuries I never quite got used to: fine dresses, shoes that cost a fortune, lunches in places I would never have stepped into alone. I walked with my arm looped through his, in a red floral dress and heels clicking against the cobblestones, and he was beside me in his immaculate suit and that hat he only wore when we went out together.

We were heading to our usual café, talking about nothing in particular, when something made him slow his pace. I felt the tug on his arm before I understood what he was looking at. I followed his gaze and then I saw her too.

A ponygirl was tied to a railing, beside a small draught cart. Farther ahead, at a sidewalk table, two men were sharing lunch and paying her the slightest attention. One of them, I supposed, was her owner.

It was not an impossible sight. There were farms, stables, discreet ads in expensive magazines. But it was one thing to know those women existed and quite another to have one three meters away, face to face, real and silent under the sun.

She wore high boots shaped like hooves that forced her to stay on tiptoe, tense, as if she were dancing upright without rest. A long tail hung from her backside, fitted inside her body. Now that I looked closely, the base of that tail was a thick, black, glossy plug, driven all the way into the girl’s ass; the pink ring of her straining anus showed around the plastic, stretched to its limit, and with every tremor of her thighs the plug shifted a little and set the tail swaying softly, obscenely. A leather belt cinched her waist, with rings and buckles designed to hitch the cart shafts. Her arms were folded behind her back, each hand strapped to the opposite elbow inside a leather sleeve that immobilized them completely, leaving her ass offered, exposed. On her pale skin two red lines stood out, fresh. Someone had whipped her not long ago.

A harness held her breasts, firm and high, squeezed by leather straps biting into her flesh and pushing her nipples forward, thick, dark, hardened by the air. Around her neck hung a metal collar with a cowbell that gave a faint tinkle with each tremor. A pair of blinkers cut off her side vision and forced her to look only straight ahead. In her mouth she wore a bit with reins trailing down her back, and a strand of saliva slid from her chin to her chest, dripping between her tits.

“Look at that,” I said to Esteban, pointing openly at her. My stomach had tightened, but not with disgust. All at once I felt warm wetness running down the inside of my thigh, a discreet trickle that slipped beneath my panties before I could clamp my legs together.

“Yeah,” he replied, and looked away at once, trying to keep us moving.

I let go of his arm and stepped closer. He clicked his tongue and came after me, resigned, like someone who knows he is not going to win the argument.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmured. Her black hair was pulled into two tight braids, a deliberately childish style, made to humiliate her, and yet it suited her. I looked at her shaved cunt, glossy, with the lips parted and a thread of slick hanging between her thighs. She was wet. Excited. The mare was hot right there, in the middle of the street, and anyone could see it.

The pony heard me. She drew her shoulders back, thrust out her chest, and lifted her chin, proud, like a show mare who knows she is being judged.

“A pony is for being seen, not for seeing,” my godfather said when he noticed her reaction and the way I was devouring her with my eyes.

“What do you think she’s thinking?” I asked, without stopping my gaze from traveling over her.

“Not much,” he answered, uncomfortable. “Ponygirls have their voice taken away when they start. And thinking… she’ll be thinking she has to be presentable for her master. Nothing more than that.”

I fell silent for a moment. Then I said what had been circling in my head for a while.

“I’d look good like that, don’t you think?” I said, and smiled at him with a wickedness I did not recognize in myself.

Esteban turned to me, and for the first time in years I saw him truly alarmed.

“No, you don’t want that,” he said, lowering his voice. “A ponygirl is one for life. There’s no going back. She never gets to wear clothes again, or speak, or do any of the things you do. Until she dies, they’ll treat her like an animal. Just like an animal.”

It should have scared me. Instead, something lit up inside me, a hot current that ran down my back and settled between my legs. I felt my clit swell against the seam of my panties, throbbing hard, and my cunt clenched in empty spasms, asking for something to fill it. There’s no going back. I repeated the phrase in my head and liked the way it sounded.

“God, what a horrible way to treat a human being,” I said. But I said it smiling, and we both knew I did not mean it at all.

We started walking again, this time behind the cart, where she could not see us with the blinkers on. I used the angle to look at her ass up close: the white cheeks split by the two red welts from the whip, the black plug gleaming between them, and lower down the open cunt dripping in a straight line all the way to the hoof boots. I had to bite my lip not to moan aloud.

“I wonder if she’s scared,” I went on, thoughtful. “Maybe she’s sad and misses her old life. Maybe she hates all this.” I paused, feeling my pulse in my throat. “Or maybe she’s a real submissive, a pervert, and she’s enjoying every second. Maybe she’s never been as turned on as she is now. Look at her, Esteban. She’s dripping. You can tell. It’s running down her thighs.”

He swallowed and did not answer.

***

“Honey,” Esteban said, and there was genuine concern in the sweetness of it. “You love talking with your friends. You love books. Pretty clothes, jewelry, choosing shoes. You love cooking. Think about it carefully: for a ponygirl, all that disappears forever. And the day the owner gets bored, or wants a newer one, he simply gets rid of her. That’s not a life for you.”

I stopped. I looked again at the pony’s naked body, now from farther away, and took a few seconds to sort through what I was feeling.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I understand losing all those freedoms. I suppose that’s exactly what makes the idea so terrifying… and so incredibly arousing.”

I swallowed. My mouth was dry and my words came out lower than usual. I could feel my panties already soaked, clinging to my cunt, and with every step my swollen lips rubbed against each other. I squeezed my thighs a little and shivered despite myself.

“Imagine what it must be like for her,” I continued. “Before, she was just an ordinary woman, like anyone. Now she knows that life is completely over. She can remember when she dressed, did her hair, talked to someone she liked, cooked something special for a special person… a thousand things. And she knows it’s finished. That all she has left is to accept it and, maybe, learn to enjoy it. Take her master wherever he wants, naked, in silence. Spread her legs when he wants to fuck her, suck his cock on her knees in the straw, let him shove his cock into her ass while he holds the reins. Nothing else. God, Esteban. What she must feel has to be horrible and wonderful at the same time.”

Esteban cleared his throat. His face had turned red, and beneath his suit trousers the hard bulge of his cock stood out clearly. I pretended not to see it and smiled to myself. I had never made him like that before.

“Let’s get on with lunch,” he said, wanting to cut it short.

“Wait.” I didn’t move. “What if a woman really wanted to do this? Who does she talk to?”

Esteban sighed. He knew he was giving ground, and still he answered, against his better judgment.

“I know a lawyer who can start the paperwork.”

“And then what happens?” I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“There’s a process,” he said slowly. “Once the papers are signed, there are medical and psychological exams. Even an intelligence test. Then the court is asked to strip her of all civil rights. After that, you have to find a training stable willing to take her and wait for an opening. Training takes about six months. If everything goes well… there’s an auction, and they sell her.”

“Can anyone buy one?” I asked.

“No. They have to prove they can maintain the stable, pay for the training, and provide lifelong care. Just a few, people with a lot of money.”

“That makes sense,” I said, lost in my own thoughts. I imagined myself auctioned, bound, exposed before rich men bidding on my body, with my legs spread on a platform, my cunt on display, a gloved finger parting my lips so the buyers could check that the mare was healthy and well-lubricated. Someone would shove two fingers deep inside me and pull them out shining, then hold them up for the rich men to see how wet humiliation made me. A shiver ran up my spine and my tits hardened beneath the dress; my nipples showed through the thin fabric so clearly that Esteban had to look away.

“And what are the trainers like?” I went on, my voice trembling a little. “Are any of them men?”

“Would you be embarrassed by a male trainer?” he asked, looking at me sidelong.

I shivered. I imagined myself naked, on all fours, with a stranger teaching me to obey the whip. I tasted the imaginary flavor of someone else’s cock, thick, salty, thrusting at my throat while someone held me by the braids. I imagined crying and sucking at the same time, swallowing the hot load because that was what was expected of me, because ponies swallow, and then opening my mouth so the master could check that not a single drop remained.

“Yes,” I confessed. “That would be a little terrifying.”

“A ponygirl isn’t easily ashamed,” he said. “If a man as trainer would make you uncomfortable, then maybe this isn’t for you.”

“Fair point.” I lowered my gaze to the ground. “But I think I could handle that. I think I could handle all of it. Being spread open and fucked in front of the whole stable. Having a cock shoved into my ass with the tail in place. Being made to come on the whip until I couldn’t stand anymore.”

I said it without looking up, and I felt Esteban go very still beside me.

“In any case,” he added at last, trying to recover the thread, “trainers are usually women. It’s easier for a woman to be hard and cruel to another woman, to demand until she breaks.”

“That makes sense too,” I murmured, nodding, while a different image took shape in my head: a woman with the whip in her hand, cold, patient, teaching me where I belonged. I imagined myself on my knees in front of her, forced to lick her cunt until she came in my face, with my hands bound behind my back and my braids caught in her fist while she rubbed my wet lips against her mouth. I felt my belly tighten.

“Maybe you could be a trainer, or a stable hand,” Esteban suggested, clinging to his last hope of steering me away. “I can introduce you to people, get you work. Maybe you’d like being close to that world from the other side.”

I thought about it seriously. I wrinkled my nose.

“That could be fun,” I said at last. “But if I’m going to be close to all this… I think I’d rather be the pony. I think that’s what suits me. I want the bit in my mouth. I want the plug shoved all the way in. I want to be fucked with the reins on.”

I said it softly, almost to myself, and hearing my own voice out loud I knew it was true. It was not a provocation. It was a desire I had carried inside me long before I saw that woman by the railing, merely waiting for an excuse to come into the light. My cunt was soaking, throbbing, and I knew that if anyone touched me at that moment I would come in two seconds right there in the street, hanging on my godfather’s arm.

***

Esteban stayed silent for a long while. When he spoke, he did so carefully, like someone negotiating with a person standing on the edge of a cliff.

“Look, let’s do this,” he said. “Let’s walk, have lunch quietly, okay? And let’s not talk about it anymore. If after lunch you still think the same, I’ll take you to the lawyer’s office and introduce you. Just so you can get informed. No commitment.”

“Really?” A huge, unstoppable smile broke across my face. “That sounds perfect. Deal.”

We returned to the sidewalk and resumed our way to the café. We passed the ponygirl again, but this time on her blind side, and she did not turn her head. She stayed firm, looking straight ahead, the cowbell still against her neck and the saliva drying on her chest. I caught, from the corner of my eye, how a thick thread of slick broke free from her cunt and fell onto the cobblestones, forming a small shining puddle between her boots. No one noticed. She couldn’t notice it either. She was trained for that, to drip in silence under the sun while her master finished lunch.

I walked with a light step I could not hide. I hung on my godfather’s arm and pressed against him, thinking of a thousand things at once: the lawyer, the paperwork, six months in a stable, the whip in a trainer’s hand, the hammer of an auctioneer coming down on my name for the last time. The first cock that would fuck me when I no longer had a name, when I was already a mare. The first load I would swallow as an animal. The first time I would drip in the middle of the street too, unable to do anything to stop it.

I could feel the wetness between my legs with every step, so intense I was sure it was staining the inside of my dress, and my heart was pounding not with fear but with something like happiness. For the first time in a long while I knew exactly what I wanted. And I knew, too, that when I got it, there would be no going back.